To The Brink
by Agent Triangle
Summary: The lives of the Freelancers were never easy ones. They fought a war on two fronts - against the Covenant on one, the Insurrection on the other. The weight of losing friends and allies to war can only weigh so heavily on a person before they begin to break. And with traitors, spies, and threats mounting from every direction, it doesn't get easier to live with. T for profanity.
1. Prologue

**Prologue** - **Left Behind**

The Director and Counselor stood in front of the oversized screen in the bridge of the _Mother of Invention_, a few Freelancers at their backs. Agents Carolina, New York, Wyoming, South Dakota, North Dakota, Maine, and Washington stood behind them, watching the screen that was fixed perhaps twenty feet above the head of the Director and five feet or so in front of him.

The Freelancers were good at what they did. But they weren't infallible. Failure was to be expected.

And Solace had been a spectacular one.

Project Freelancer had come to fight to take back Solace from the Insurrection. For the first time in recent history, they had failed utterly.

Agents Alaska and Massachusetts had been killed, their bodies left behind when the four-man strike team had been forced to pull out of the firebase. Someone had tipped off the Innies in the firebase, and they had accordingly set traps.

Alaska... well, he was simply shot to death by autoturrets that deployed from the ceiling right as he turned a corridor. Massachusetts's death had a little more flair. The console she was supposed to steal data containing enemy troop movements was set with a bunch of C12. The moment she came into contact with the console, half of the firebase blew away in a stunning display of fire and heat. Even if North and Nebraska had the time to look for her body, chances were it had been incinerated.

Agent Arizona had gone missing, presumed dead. Although, recently recovered information had prevented Arizona from being listed as MIA.

Arizona had been sent on a mission with a platoon of marines to take back a place that had a long, boring designation. The locals called it simply "The Citadel." It had been going pretty well, actually - the marines were deadly and competent, impressing the large Freelancer with their cohesiveness as a combat unit. Right about when they had reached the middle of the tower, the signals of every single combatant had disappeared, including the one of the huge heavy weapons specialist. When the Director sent a pelican to reestablish contact, the pilot was treated to the rather unwelcome sight of the Citadel's top half - reduced to ash and debris, laying on its side a distance away from the base of the Citadel. Later, it was discovered that multiple bombs had been set to trigger once the UNSC forces made their way to the staircase halfway up. Arizona was reportedly heading down to retrieve something, but him surviving the explosion seemed like a long shot.

Three Agents gone within one hour of setting foot on Solace, and that hadn't even been why they had to run with their tails between their legs.

As if fate had decided to give PFL the finger and throw whatever it could at the Project, the Covenant had arrived. UNSC, Freelancers, and Insurrectionists evacuated everyone possible, not able to put up a decent fight in the wake of a bloody, brutal, and swift campaign. The MoI retreated after collecting the Agents out on assignment and Slipspaced away as soon as possible.

Maybe this failure hadn't quite been the Project's greatest. But it would probably be remembered as just that.

It hadn't even been a week since the _Mother of Invention_ had left the planet. None of the Agents on the bridge were in the mood for a reprimanding. However, this didn't seem to be a reprimanding, exactly.

The Director stood straight-backed, his hands clasped behind his back. In the top-right corner of the screen, the display read "**Agent Arizona - DECEASED - July 15, 2526**".

That just so happened to be the date today. Nobody spoke for a very long time, taking in the meaning of the words before them. The rest of the screen was blank, but the words in the corner spoke volumes. Arizona had been confirmed dead, too.

Eventually, Wash spoke up bravely. "Sir? What is this?" He knew exactly what this was, but he could think of no better question to ask.

Instead, of the Director reacting, the Counselor replied, "Another agent lost." He took a step forward and activated the playback.

* * *

_The_ Mother of Invention_ had left without him. Six horrible days on this backwater dust ball that meant nothing to the UNSC. Yet Project Freelancer had come to defend against the Covenant. When the planet was declared lost and the glassing had begun, the Invention had left with all of its surviving personnel. Save one._

_Arizona and the four marines with him knew they were making their last stand. Hiding behind barricades in the remains of a military base, they were holding off a massive number of Brutes and Elites. Strangely enough, the usual Grunts and Jackals were nowhere to be seen._

_Arizona saw the six-man Zealot squad emerge from a drop-pod a few meters behind them before the rest of his team did. He turned around and opened fire with his HMG Puff, the modified repeater with the hand-carved design of a dragon on its side erupting into a loud cacophony of gunshots. His team couldn't turn. The oncoming forces were hard enough to deal with without being distracted. They trusted him to deal with the threat flanking them._

_Damned if he would lose. The first Zealot's bullet-ridden corpse fell to the ground, and another joined it shortly. As the strike team ignited their energy swords, they got too damned close. He simply flung Puff at the closest Zealot in a panic, and it toppled over, shields flaring as it was protected from having a few bones broken from the force of the throw and the weight of the gun. As the next Zealot stepped over his comrade, Arizona drew two Maulers._

_Elites were supposed to be fearless, honorable, and to never stop fighting. But for the brief moment it hesitated, Arizona could have sworn that he saw fear flash in its eyes. He opened fire with the Maulers, absolutely destroying the Zealot in front of him. A shower of bolts flew between the Zealot and the Freelancer, and the Zealot's corpse went flying a couple meters from the force of the shots. He pointed his left Mauler at one approaching Zealot and one at another, firing at the same time, and they both stumbled back, some bolts being caught by the shields, but most piercing the defensive energy._

_He lunged forward in a burst of speed one wouldn't expect from a man his size. He stabbed the blades of the Maulers into the stomachs of the Elites, pulling it out as quickly as possible. Their guts came spilling out, and they fell over, bleeding out, shuddering in an overdose of pain._

_Without any warning, his head exploded in pain and he went down to the ground, still holding onto his Maulers. He rolled slowly to look up at a freaking Brute Chieftain standing there, having ripped through the marines Arizona had gathered in his long days of looking for survivors with apparently a single bullet hole in its shoulder the only retribution the marines had been able to inflict. He heard scraping noises, signifying that the Zealot who he'd thrown his HMG at was attempting to get up._

_Mustering all of his willpower, moving through the splitting headache and the searing pain, he lifted his Maulers and fired right into the Brute's chest. Its shields flickered... but did not die out. It snorted in obvious contempt and drew its Gravity Hammer from its back. The Brute swung it down at him, and Arizona's eyes widened as he dropped the Maulers and threw up his arms in a cross in front of him in a desperate attempt to defend himself._

_The Hammer slammed into his chest, completely ignoring his haphazard defense, crushing him and knocking the wind out of him. A shockwave spread out from the point of impact, pain rippling across Arizona. The shockwave cracked his visor, almost blinding him. The Brute raised its Grav Hammer again to finish the job and Arizona picked up his Maulers, disregarding the pain coursing through him, and pressed the barrel up to the Chieftain's chest and pulled the triggers three times in rapid succession before the Maulers ran out of ammo for their 'clip'. The Chieftain staggered back as his shields flared and died within a second, and the Maulers completely shredded the Brute's vulnerable chest. Fur, blood, and flesh exploded out from the back of the Brute, and it stumbled two steps away and toppled over._

_As it moved away, Arizona stood up shakily and removed his helmet, knowing for sure that his ribcage had caved in._

_Suddenly, enemies came from all directions. He took two steps forward and picked up an assault rifle from a dead marine and fired on a Elite minor, who died within seconds. The Zealot who had been beneath Puff charged at him, energy sword ignited. It lunged at his back, about to run him through, and he turned around in a flash, the superheated dual lances of plasma barely missing him. He smashed its face in with the butt of the assault rifle, its shields fading, his chest flaring with pain at the effort. He stumbled to the side as the wounded Elite snarled, a mandible limp. It fell to the ground, and looked over his shoulder. Arizona didn't move - he wasn't going to fall for so obvious a -_

_Two plasma rounds slammed into his armor, a few sailing right past his unhelmeted head just as he drew his sidearm and aimed it at the Zealot's head._

_Two more Elites came to back up the Zealot, firing plasma rifles at him. He fired his assault rifle at them, mowing one down and shooting the Zealot twice in the face with the Magnum, the explosive rounds making short work of the unshielded Elite's head._

_Five more Elites - where the hell did the Covenant find this many damned Elites? - charged him, and he fired his Magnum repeatedly at the two minors on the left. They dropped like flies, and the two other minors on the right were sent careening back with rounds from his MA5D ripping through them._

_The last surviving Elite, an Ultra, was joined by yet two more, both of which he shot and killed. But the Ultra got close enough to kick him in the chest, and he fell down again, a faint crack being heard as the Elite's huge foot connected. The Ultra attempted to climb on top of him, igniting its energy dagger to stab him in the neck, but Arizona raised a foot and kicked it away, and it went back, spinning once. A freaking general attempted the same thing the Ultra did, but he dropped his Magnum and grabbed the Mauler, loading it with ammo in one fluid, practiced move, shooting it directly in the face. It took a step back, and he fired again, killing it._

_The Ultra came back and stabbed its energy dagger right into Arizona's wrist and flicked upwards, completely severing his arm from the forearm down. Arizona didn't scream, even though that didn't stop him from trying; his lungs had failed to work properly within seconds of his chest being crushed. He picked up his assault rifle with his remaining hand, firing at the Ultra point-blank, killing it, too._

_Another Zealot approached and ignited its energy sword, stabbing him in the chest. His beaten body couldn't take it. The adrenaline that had kept him moving until now faded. Arizona dropped his assault rifle, his grasp weakening. He drew a combat knife from his shoulder and thrusted it into the eye of his attacker, holding on grimly. He breathed, "See you in Hell, asshole." Or at least, that was what he tried to say. It came out as a short, broken gasp. But that was enough for him. As the Zealot writhed in his grasp and two other Elites approached, he reached his free hand down and pulled the pins on both grenades on his belt._

_His last breath left his broken, battered, pierced lungs as the grenades went off, the explosion ripping apart Arizona's lifeless body in a concussive funeral pyre._

_His helmet tumbled away from the site of the explosion and came to a rest on its side, reflecting the ruined, smoking skyline of the nearby urban city in its cracked visor._

* * *

For a short while, everyone just looked at the ruins of the city of Torr in silence. Then in a surprisingly hoarse and angered voice, the Director said, "Dismissed, Agents."

With assorted murmurs of, "Yessir," the Agents filed out of the bridge. Normally, someone would speak up at this point - maybe York with a bad joke to lighten the mood at Wash's expense, North with an attempt at consoling to help everyone's obviously horrible moods, South with a stinging remark about her teammates being too incompetent to do their jobs right, Carolina with a somewhat reassuring comment - but this time, there was nothing.

Just the dull, hollow pain of losing another teammate.


	2. Chapter 1 - Aftermath, Before History

**Chapter 1 - Aftermath, Before History**

It had only been a few hours after the Director had showed them the clip of the death of another of their teammates. Why? Why had he done it? Hell if Wash knew. One thing was for certain, though. Arizona had definitely gone down swinging. People could only wish they died like Arizona did. Alaska and Massachusetts... god. Even after nearly a week, he couldn't get over them being gone. And now that he thought about it, Arizona's confirmed death would only serve to further ruin people's moods. Colorado and Delaware sprang to mind in particular.

Wash looked down at his plate of cheap, tasteless rations and pushed the food around. This wasn't him. He was supposed to be... that kid who took it all in stride. He was obviously much younger than everyone else, as his rather naive nature made apparent to anyone who hadn't seen him unhelmeted. He was the butt of the jokes, the guy everyone made teasing fun of, and he was okay with that. He had grown used to his lot here in Project Freelancer, and he actually liked it. Here, he felt like he belonged. But it was beginning to be too much. He couldn't deal with everyone leaving him.

Tennessee - she'd been one of the most deadly martial artists the Project had on hand, perhaps surpassed only by Maine and Carolina in hand-to-hand combat. But she had left months ago with some mercenary. She was technically wanted, but nobody had the heart to even bring up going after her. Not even their fearless leader.

Alaska... well, Al had always been an aloof kind of guy. He hadn't spoken to Wash much, but truth was, he hadn't spoken to _anyone_ much. But the kind of death he had was not one a supersoldier deserved. He turned a corner and was immediately filled with bullets. Just because there had been a lack of intel and an obvious leak.

And Massachusetts. Wash definitely knew her. She was the kind of person people immediately took a liking to. She pretty much had stayed out of everyone's way, only speaking up when she had something constructive to say. And what had killed her? A fucking trap. Whoever the spy was... they were going to pay. They were going to pay dearly.

And so many others were gone, too. So many.

Suddenly, he felt an armored hand on his shoulder. He looked up at York, who was carrying a plate of food in his hand.

"Hey, Wash. How you feeling?" The tan-armored Freelancer sat down next to him.

Wash snorted humorlessly. "How do you _think_ I'm feeling, York? Alaska and Massachusetts are dead, 'Rado's probably going to be breaking the training room right now now that 'Zona's gone, too. Hell, Del's probably right there with her. He probably knew 'Zona better than any of us. And Massa... well. There wasn't a single person on this ship that didn't like her. Al didn't make a lot of friends... but he was there when you needed him."

York conceded, "Yeah, the training room's probably going to be wrecked worse than when Maine has a bad day. But come on, Wash. We had to know something like this was coming, right? We're soldiers. We can't be expected to come back every time. We're good, Wash. But we're not that good."

"We should be," Wash muttered.

York shrugged. "Some things you can't help, Wash."

Right around then, North and South approached the table and sat down opposite Wash and York, respectively. Wash glared balefully at North, although the expression was hidden behind the visor. Wash was perhaps the only one on the ship who tried to never take off his helmet. And considering that he wasn't going to eat his food, taking it off seemed pointless.

Obliviously, North nodded in greeting to York and Wash, which only York returned. South looked like she was going to say something, but instead decided to busy herself by eating her food.

The table lapsed into silence as everyone but Wash ate, occasionally sneaking glances at each other. Eventually, York decided that it was time to start a conversation.

"So..." he started awkwardly. "How about that Team Sunspot? They beat the crap out of Maverick today." He knew Wash didn't watch Grifball, but North did, sometimes dragging South with him.

North nodded, looking at his tray of food. "I prefer Maverick, myself. Besides, they got way less time than Sunspot to train. Remember their first game?"

York chuckled and said, "Who doesn't? Maverick team-killed every time they tried to launch and ended up doing Dreamcrusher's work for them."

"Yeah. It's right around then that I decided I liked them. Who doesn't like an underdog? They've got a ways to go, but I think they can make it in the big leagues."

Wash mused aloud, interrupting, "Team-killing, huh? That's unfortunate. Having a teammate's blood on your hands... must be hard to live with. At least there, they just use the respawn system and they're back unless something malfunctions. Must be so much worse in life, don't you think?"

York shot a glance at Wash, a warning in his eyes. North just looked slightly confused.

"Uh... I'd imagine so, Wash."

Wash ignored York and pressed on. "It's a whole lot like leaving a teammate behind, right? It's a whole lot like like not doing your goddamned job and noticing that there was an explosive in a console - an explosive that you should have noticed with your thermals. Right?!"

At this point, the steel-and-yellow Freelancer's voice had risen to a near-shout without him even noticing.

North's gaze hardened only slightly, understanding exactly where Wash was coming from. "Wash, listen. I couldn't have noticed it. I was too busy covering Nebraska. You have to know by this point that the entire operation was compromised from the start. Massachusetts needs to retrieve information from a database? The console she was directed to use had a trap set that took out half the base - the half, that you'll remember, was completely unmanned, which we chalked up to them having to deal with Nebraska and I. Alaska was sent to kill the regional commander, and just by some coincidence, the hall that was supposed to lead to him was instead filled with turrets. Your anger shouldn't be directed at me - at least, not all of it. I understand, Wash. I- "

Washington stood up suddenly, slamming a fist on the table. "You don't know shit, North! You act like you know me. You act like you know all of us. But you don't! If you knew anything, you would have been able to spare five seconds to duck behind cover and check on Massa. But no! Instead, you concentrate on saving yourself. Like you always do."

York interrupted, "Now, hold on, Wash. You know that isn't true."

"Not true?! He couldn't do his damned job and watch his teammates?!"

South interrupted, "Take that back, Wash. Right now."

The young 'Lancer was on a roll, and didn't plan on stopping just because she wanted him to. He said disdainfully, "Or what, South? What are you gonna do, hit m-"

South launched herself across the table at his question and drove a fist at his faceplate. Dazed momentarily, Wash stumbled back, not entirely sure what had just happened. She'd moved so much faster than him... maybe he was out of his league here a little bit? That little thought was squashed and murdered immediately by his outrage. Snarling in anger, Wash swung his fist at South's relatively unarmored stomach, which made contact with a satisfying but dull thud. Just as South began bringing her knee up toward his stomach in retaliation, she was suddenly pulled back by North. Wash attempted to pursue and make full use of her inability to fight back when York grabbed his biceps and yanked him backwards.

York said in a low tone, "Alright, Wash. You're going to go to your room, sit down, and calm yourself."

In response, Washington just grunted noncommittally and wrenched his shoulders forward, forcing his way out of York's grasp. He stormed out of the mess, not particularly caring to stay behind and hear North talk to South.

York shook his head slowly and looked after the angry Freelancer. He much preferred the humorous, socially awkward Wash to this frustrated, pissed one. Of course, he couldn't really blame him. Half of the _Invention__'_s crew felt the same way he did.

* * *

Delaware walked into the training room, ready to take out his frustrations over his best friend's recently announced death... only to notice that the place was already filled with dust, debris, broken pillars, and a pissed-off Colorado. He glanced down and noticed that the dust was already coating his white Mark VI armor.

"What the fuck have you done to the place?" he asked, as if doing the exact same thing wasn't why he was here.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm making a fucking mess!" 'Rado snarled angrily.

Delaware replied, "I can see that, lady. What I should have asked is 'why are you making a fucking mess?'"

"Why? WHY?" She slammed her fist into another pillar, the resounding crack and subsequent shattering of rock echoing throughout the room. "We lost THREE agents to complete bullshit! Not enough intel, and one very uninformed CO. We could've at least extracted Arizona, but no, we ran away like bitches! Is that enough of an explanation for you, Delaware?"

Delaware just stared at her for a few seconds. And then he said, "Of course we ran. What choice did we have? You saw the Citadel. Chances were that he was dead. At least he died fighting... he died well, and you know it. He kicked the shit out of a whole lot of 'em before he dropped. Which is better than some of us will get, no doubt."

After another pause, he added, "And intel was lacking because we had literally just touched down. Truth is, Solace was a sketchy thing from the beginning. We came in completely uninformed... and the fact that we only lost three is a miracle. You came back from your assignment. I came back from mine. That right there was a long shot."

'Rado turned to him and ripped her Hayabusa helmet off, fury twisting her face into a glare that could probably cow the Director.

"Chances. We left him behind based on _chances_. If the Director had sent an emergency extraction team, we could've found him and been out of there within fifteen minutes. Ya, he went down fighting- I hope I do too- but I want it to be because there was no choice left. I want to know that I'm furthering the cause of Freelancer. I don't want to die knowing I was left behind by the very people that counted on me.

"And it's not that long of a shot," she growled. "We are **Freelancers**. The best of the best. For a man so obsessed with information, I would've expected the Director to be more informed. Instead we were all thrown into a clusterfuck because we were't prepared. That is unacceptable. Three good men and women dead because we didn't take the time to at least get preliminary intel. So don't dare try to excuse their deaths to me."

Del sighed and said,"We _did_ leave him behind on chances, and that's something you're going to get the fuck over. Yeah, I came here to beat down on some dummies or some shit, but at least I've come to terms with why he died, and why they died. You and Wash need to move the fuck on. Like you just said, we're Freelancers. Did you really think that they'd come back every time? You think YOU will come back every time? Because if you do, I've got news for you, Colorado. You are fucking dead wrong. It's too damned bad we were forced to come here without any intel. But sometimes, we do what we need to. Yes, we lost Solace, but we tried. You can't win every fight, 'Rado, and you need to get that through your fucking stubborn, thick skull. 'Unacceptable'? Accept it!

"This is reality. Shit doesn't get better until someone makes it better. Shit doesn't get worse until someone makes it worse. It's too damned late for Arizona and Alaska and Massachusetts, but it sure as hell ain't too late for me, and it ain't too late for you. This is how our lives are going to go. We're going to get attached to people that will ultimately either die or watch us die. This is war, Colorado. Expect death. Expect it always."

Placing her helmet back on her head, 'Rado whipped around and slammed her foot into the ruins of another pillar, a grim sense of pleasure and release settling over her. "Which is why getting attached to people is nothing but a pain in the ass. This is war, people die. But it's easier to forget the dead when you don't know anything beyond their call-sign. For once, I agree with Wash. If there's even the smallest sliver of hope for a friend... you take that sliver and act on it. We didn't, and Arizona is dead on that burned rock of a planet now. Well, hopefully it was at least a quick death. God forbid the Covvies decided he was more amusing alive than dead. If they did... we deserve whatever hell is waiting for us."

Delaware shakes his head slowly. "The Director only showed the 'boarders the clip. Maybe you should ask them. If you believe in that kind of stuff, we're already going to hell. Just puttin' that out there. When we die, we ain't seeing the pearly gates. We're gonna be introduced to the fire." Delaware sighs. "I don't know how close the two of you were, but he was my best friend. No doubt Indi's already broken half of her room over Alaska, and every last one of us is hurt by Massachussetts' death... especially Vermont, though. Everyone here feels the pain you do, 'Rado, even if most of us don't try to show it."

'Rado muttered, "I've already accepted that I'm going to hell. Killed too many people- innocent or not- to bother trying to redeem myself. So I may as well dig myself a bigger hole."

However she stopped smashing crumbling bits of rock for a moment, tilting her head upwards, letting a sigh escape her lips.

"Close enough to feel something. Close enough for it to matter. Far too close," she growled. "And I'm not going to make that mistake again."

Del raised an eyebrow."'Not going to make that mistake again'? So - what? You're going to be all emotionless and cold and never care about someone again? Please. You and I both know that that'll only make things work, and not caring about people will make you just as bad as the people we're fighting. Mr. Graves, ye olde leader of the Insurrection - he can send people to die for him without a second thought. Is that who you're going to be, 'Rado?"

She motioned around the ruined training room, still not facing him.

"See this? This is what happens when I care. When I care too much and something bad happens? The pillars would be the least notable casualties if I got truly pissed off. Chances are you'd be paste on the floor if I was truly honest-to-god angry. And no. I'm not so heartless that I'd send people to their deaths without another thought to the aftermath. But when more teammates die, I won't let it distract me. Distractions get people killed in war."

Delaware chose to ignore the paste comment. 'Rado knew it wouldn't be quite so easy as "'Rado smash', but he figured he could give her a free pass. Despite her apparent cold anger, she was obviously distraught, her anger being apparently the way she had chosen to express that.

"Distractions also make life worth living," he said simply.

"Depends on the distractions. I've seen enough friends die over my career. It never gets any easier. And..." she sighed again, clenching her fists painfully before releasing them. "All I want is a permanent fixture for once. Something I can count on to always be there no matter what happens. And it's clear that friendships are not a permanent fixture."

Delaware closes his eyes, choosing his words carefully before voicing his thoughts - for once. "Nothing is a permanent fixture. Not friends, not family... nothing we fight for will be cared about 500 years from now. You can't afford to be caring if things are permanent or not."

"Well, I do. Just until the day I die- whether it be days, weeks, months, or years from now- I just want one thing to stay the same. Hell, for all I know, this ship will be that fixture. It's been the most constant thing so far that I've been in for years." She rubbed her hands together, small shards of rock falling onto the floor.

"Why are you giving me advice, Delaware? I'm not exactly the most... approachable person on the ship for this emotional bullshit."

He says flatly, "Because I'd rather you were sitting calmly in your room than resisting the urge to beat me to a pulp. And because I can... empathize. Is that the word...? Yeah, empathize. I never liked you very much, to be honest with you. But that doesn't mean I'm an entirely cold bastard. I can at least try to do something when I see someone in obvious emotional distress."

Del shrugs. "I'll miss them, too. Doesn't mean I'll forget about my friends."

For a moment, she was silent, processing what he had said.

"I never planned on forgetting. Just using their deaths as motivation. Fleets will burn for all three of them."

Turning around for the first time, she began to walk towards the entrance, massaging her knuckles. However, she stopped beside Delaware to look him straight in the eye.

"For the record... thanks at least for talking me down," she grumbled in a voice that clearly said she wasn't used to expressing gratitude.

He nodded in response, figuring she intended the visor-to-visor contact to express the same meaning eye contact would. "Anytime," Del replied calmly. He started walking forward and tilted his head to the left, then to the right, stretching out his neck slightly. 'Rado had had her fun engendering property damages... and now, Del was going to punch and kick at unsatisfying green circles.

Whee.


	3. Chapter 2 - Taking What You Want

**Chapter 2 - Taking What You Want**

"There is only one thing stronger than fear. And that is hope."

The entire circle of Insurrectionist leaders looked at the man when he spoke out of turn, but they held their tongues. An old man garbed in farmer's clothing, with the symbol of the Insurrection stitched into the left shoulder, gestured for him to continue.

The one who had spoken seemed to falter when all eyes fell on him, but he gathered his courage and continued to speak.

"The UNSC has been a too heavyhanded with us. We all can agree on that. That's why we're here. They attempted to rule us through fear, and for years, we were kept in line by that fear. But slowly, hope grew in us until we knew we could have our freedom back. But we can't simply be handed it back - we knew we would have to _take _it. People all around the galaxy are coming to realize that the UNSC has gone too far repeatedly. Our numbers grow every day, and that's because hope has always been stronger than fear. We can't become the kind of people the UNSC are. We're not using guerrilla warfare anymore, we're using terrorism. We're not taking out strategically important targets, we're killing thousands to attempt to get a message across. But we don't need to do that. People know we're serious about what we're doing. They don't need to be assured that we're willing to kill. They need to be assured that we have the higher moral ground. I know it sounds a little trite, but the truth is, people will support those who help them, not those that bomb their Citadels and kill their friends and family. We need to keep ourselves in check and really think about what it is we want, and how we want to win this war. Do we want to fight them gun-to-gun? Because we'll lose. We should be looking to the populace to win the war for us. If we turn the UNSC's population against them, then we've already won."

In the moments after the ragged-clothed man who had once been the Insurrection's regional commander of their forces at Solace spoke, there was a prodigious silence in the command room. All eyes lingered on him, eventually sliding away to glance at the others to gauge their reactions.

After a minute or so of looking around, the man sitting directly across from the ex-regional commander, Jacob Jiles spoke, his clothes marking him as a higher rank than the commander, but the insignia was so faded and beaten that it was impossible to distinguish just how high his rank was. However, in the aftermath of Solace, which the Insurrection had spent too many resources into holding, nobody cared much for ranks at the moment.

"You're right," he said simply.

At this, the rest of the command staff started muttering dissent. The clamor rose and rose until Jacob stood up. Almost immediately, the strident arguing ceased.

The newly appointed leader of the Eridanus sector Rebels cleared his throat.

"We've begun construction for a base in Eridanus Secundus. My men and I are pulling out."

A middle-aged fellow with a graying handlebar moustache stood up and said in a loud tone just a few hair shy of a shout, "You can't just do that! We need your troops, and you know it! We're about to-"

"About to _what_, Admiral? Die? No. We certainly have no love for the UNSC, but we've decided that we're not spending any more lives for this. Watts is gone now, and that's because he threw in his lot with you. And that is where he made the mistake. We're going to organize ourselves from now on, and you're going to like it."

Handlebars snarled, "And why should we?"

Jacob grinned. "Because you're suddenly about to have problems a lot worse than me."

As if on cue - probably because it was - alarms went off, blaring deafeningly, and the holographic screen off to the side flashed to life, displaying a large man in white and orange EVA armor smashing his way through Insurrectionist soldiers, at least ten Freelancers behind him, backing him up.

The man with the handlebar moustache whirled back to Jacob and started, "You did thi-" before stopping in his tracks.

Jiles was gone.

* * *

Maine smashed the Innie's head into a wall, caving in his skull. As two more Insurrectionists raised the rifles to shoot Maine, three gunshots cracked out, two bullets catching the first in the head, the last going through the other Innie's heart. Maine glanced back at Wash, who had his gun up and had obviously been the one to save Maine, and the huge Freelancer nodded in silent gratitude, before leveling his own Battle Rifle at the oncoming foes.

* * *

_This is absolute chaos,_ Del thought as he stabbed an Insurrectionist in the neck with one of his shivs. He left the shiv inside the Insurrectionist who had apparently begun to choke on his own blood. Del turned and fired his Magnum at an Innie who had the idiotic idea of trying to sneak up on him from behind. As the steel-armored Insurrectionist dropped to the floor, he heard a slight hissing behind him.

Del turned around quickly, only to be rewarded with a flashbang and a smoke grenade. He let out a shout of annoyance and anger as his HUD freaked out for a few moments before adjusting. His eyes were still mostly blind, and his ears were still ringing when another Insurrectionist appeared from the cloud of smoke and fired two rounds from a DMR at him. The first caught Del in the shoulder, and the other would have ripped through his torso were it not for the armor deflecting the shot, which wasn't quite as bad as people made it out to be.

The Freelancer launched himself at the Innie, and they fell in a mess of flailing limbs and armor. They landed outside the rapidly growing smoke, and the Innie immediately socked Del in the head, dazing the white-armored 'Lancer for a second. The Innie quickly drew his combat knife and drove it at Del's neck. Del jerked his head to the side at the last second, and the knife grazed Del's skin, cutting through the tough bodysuit. Del grabbed his own knife from his thigh and stabbed it into the Innie's side, and the man who had been on offense a moment ago groaned in pain. Del snarled something unintelligible, and he twisted the knife, causing the Innie to actually scream. Del pushed the screaming man off of him, getting to his feet, still slightly disoriented. His hand went to his side to get his Magnum, but his hand met only air.

He glanced around and saw that he had dropped the Magnum when the two soldiers had gone to the ground. He took a step toward the gun and picked it up. He turned back to the Innie and pointed the gun at him. However, his eyes went wide when he saw what the wounded Insurrectionist had done.

The Innie had a grenade out, clutched tightly in his left hand, and he laughed madly. The Innie pulled the pin and tackled Del to the ground.

* * *

Carolina shot her attacker through the head calmly, then pivoted and shot the other hostile twice in the chest. Both Insurrectionists fell to the floor of the "secret" Insurrectionist hideout, and she tapped her helmet, activating her radio.

"Alpha- 1, regroup at my position. We-"

Her orders were interrupted by Del's panicked "Help me!" cutting her off. Carolina glanced around, looking for the white-armored Freelancer, and she found him at the edge of a dissipating smoke cloud, wrestling with a Insurrectionist who had a knife in his side... and a grenade in one hand, with the pin gone. Carolina grabbed her grappling hook and fired it at Del, and it caught his wrist. It began retracted, and it pulled Del forcefully out from under the Innie. The Insurrectionist tried to hold onto Del, but his grip slackened, probably due to the pain of forcing himself to move while having a knife lodged in his ribs, and he dropped to the floor.

Del practically flew across the ground, dragged quickly by the retreating grappling hook, and he slid to a stop at Carolina's feet. As an explosion sounded behind him, marking the death of the soldier who had failed his kamikaze attempt, Carolina looked down at him.

"Get up," she said curtly.

Del rose as quickly as he possibly could. He took a few steps to the side and grabbed an MA5C Assault Rifle from one of the Innies Carolina had shot.

Carolina nodded slightly to him and tapped her helmet again. "Waypoint set. Alpha -1, regroup ASAP. Our leak's given us the location of the leaders of the resistance in this region. We have to move there, and fast. We can't afford to spend time with these grunts; our targets will get away while we're kept busy. You're with me. Alpha -2, stay here and secure the evac route in case things go south. Bravo should be taking care of the reinforcements right now, so we have the base cut off for now. Get moving."

Carolina raised her Magnum and fired at a few approaching Insurrectionists, and both Del and Carolina turned the Innies into bullet-ridden corpses within seconds.

* * *

Wash groaned as a bullet caught him in the lower torso. He fired his BR55 at the Innie, killing him with multiple headshots. A waste of ammo, sure, but Wash wasn't quite a happy camper at the moment. As he reloaded his gun, he started backing up, heading towards Carolina. He didn't dare try to remind Maine - the juggernaut had more likely than not heard Carolina's orders anyway, and even a minor distraction from Wash could prove fatal mid-combat. As he raced toward where Carolina, Delaware, and now North and South were clearing a path down a rather large hallway, Maine flung a grenade at his attackers and followed suit.

The Innies on the receiving end of Maine's grenade barely had time to say anything before the grenade sent them to oblivion.

* * *

The high-ranked personnel that were all cooped up in the command room of the hideout watched in growing horror as the Freelancers cut through their forces like they were nothing. How many had died now? A hundred? Two?

They all knew they should be running now, but the sight of the Freelancers utterly destroying the guards had them transfixed. One of them, though, the regional commander who had spoken out of turn just before this whole meeting had gone to hell, finally tore his gaze from the screen. He looked around in a panic, and broke into a desperate run for the hangar.

The sound of the man's boots hitting the floor shook the rest of them out of their daze, and they attempted to follow the commander. Unfortunately for them, as the men passed into the hangar, it became swiftly apparent that there was only one Falcon left. The regional commander jumped into the pilot's seat and immediately started taking off, hovering in the air.

The man with the grand moustache yelled up at him, "Take us with you!"

The regional commander mock-saluted the arguing bunch and simply started flying off.

* * *

The Freelancers advanced down the halls swiftly, and the Innie soldiers that dared to meet them dropped dead within seconds of being spotted, and many more simply gave up, dropped their weapons, and surrendered, hands behind their heads, dropping to their knees as their allies died in front of them.

They were slowed somewhat due to having to restrain the prisoners of war with whatever they could find, even locking a few soldiers in a storage room at one point, but were inexorably, inevitably making their way to the command room.

* * *

The command staff who had been left behind fell silent as the Falcon flew away. In the stunned silence that ensued, they could only look up at the small VTOL.

One of them said dumbly, "He... he left us behind."

The others had no response.

* * *

The men still coordinating the defense of the hideout were still in the command room, and barely paid attention when the command staff had run out. But they all went still when a thunderous bang sounded from the door.

All eyes were drawn to the door as it banged again, a large dent appearing in it as it appeared to threaten to cave in.

One more ponderous sound that seemed to mimic a minor explosion sounded, and the door flew in. The Freelancers walked in, with Maine in front. They slowly filed in, guns aimed at the remaining people in the command room.

"This can't be all of you. Where are the rest of them?" Carolina demanded.

One of them decided that they were probably going to die unless someone said something, and he stepped forward. He pointed in the direction of a door off to the side, leading directly into the hangars. His friend slapped him in the back of the head, and he growled at her as North, South, and Carolina followed the man's direction, Maine, Wash, and Del keeping their guns trained on the crew.

* * *

Roughly half of the command staff were still looking out of the hangars into the distance when the three Freelancers entered the area. Carolina's voice snapped with authority.

"On your knees. Now. Hands behind your heads, or we _will_ shoot."

Most of them complied immediately, with only two still standing at the end - the old man and the moustachioed one.

Carolina said, "You have ten seconds to get on the ground. Ten. Nine. Eight..."

The old man gave in at around seven, but the other drew a Magnum and turned towards the Freelancers, beginning to point his gun up at them.

He never got the chance to even point the barrel of the gun at their feet. North pulled the trigger of his sniper rifle, and the man collapsed to the ground, a hole in his upper chest.

Carolina tapped her helmet again, activating her radio. "_Mother of Invention_, this is Agent Carolina. Do you read me?"

The response came after roughly two seconds, and unexpectedly, instead of F.I.L.S.S. or a crewman, the Director answered. "I read you, agent. What is your status?"

Recovering from her surprise, Carolina responded, "One dead. The rest have successfully been apprehended," as North and South began to zip tie the hands of the Insurrectionists together. They were simply easier to carry around than handcuffs, even though they were certainly less reliable.

The Director didn't say anything for a few moments, but he finally said, "Excellent work. We're sending you evac now."

Carolina nodded even though the Director couldn't see her and said, "Thank you, sir. Carolina out."

She switched frequencies on her radio right after the Director cut off the communication, and she asked, "York, how are we doing on securing the evac route?"

A few seconds were filled with the sounds of gunfire, and then York answered, "Almost finished up here. Cal took a shot to the thigh, but he's still kicking. Metaphorically, of course - he's not going to be kicking things anytime soon."

"Copy that. We're en route."

As North and South forced the captured Innies to stand, Carolina looked at them. "I hope you like prison food," she said pleasantly as they started walking out.


End file.
